The Caped Crusader
by Metzgermeister
Summary: Set between TDK and TDKR. After Batman becomes Gotham's most wanted, a peculiar face from Bruce Wayne's past rises up to usurp the order Batman, Gordon and Harvey Dent fought for. References to other characters will be made as well as a character "origin" for the Nolanverse Selina Kyle.
1. Silent Assailtant

Arnold Flass slowly opened his eyes, albeit with uttermost difficulty, his sight blurred out from the hours he had spent unconscious, courtesy of a vicious crowbar blow on the back of his head. He never saw the ambush thrown on him coming, and if even if he did, deep down he was certain he couldn't do much about it. Having worked as a crooked cop throughout most his career had made him a big group of friends, but as he knew all too well, everything had a price. He soon realized he was sitting down on a chair, his wrists strapped on to the wooden structure's arms and his ankles to the chair's legs, as to secure he'd stay still for what would happen. Already feeling a sweat drop coursing down his forehead, Flass's heart began pumping faster, his breathing unstable and quick, as he tried to understand where he was.

The sound of steps echoing in the distance were like needles being stung into his ears, which made the overweight man grumble and try to cover his ears so he could block the sound and get some solace. All his efforts were in vain, obviously, as the person standing in the room with him kept marching towards him and his strapped wrists made it impossible for him to block the source of his hearing. After a few instances of hesitation, Flass finally mustered the courage to look up and try to identify his captor.

The man, now mere inches away from him, remained a mystery to the eyes of Flass, the upper region of his body concealed by the seemingly endless shades that swallowed the area. Taking a closer look at his clothing, the dirty cop could easily understand that whoever it was that had ordered his capture was one of influence. The perfectly polished shoes that practically reflected the environment around them and the business-like white suit covering the captor's figure made everything clear. Flass's line of thought was suddenly broken by the words of the mysterious kidnapper, his voice sounding incredibly low and raspy, but also slightly muffled, as if something was covering it.

"Do you know why you are here?" - The man asked, not moving, as if his entire body was one with the room both were locked in. In a way, his voice was almost like a whisper coming out of the walls, as his face was not possible to distinguish amidst the darkness.  
For a few seconds, Flass remained silent, confusion still overtaking him, even though he knew he was in no position to make a stand or to act strong. His interlocutor made it clear he was in command just for the way he presented himself. The lack of answer on Flass's behalf seemed to annoy the other man, as his breathing grew huskier, almost impatient, his right fist clenching firmly. The crooked cop would have to find a way out of this situation with his words, so he'd have to choose them carefully, which was incredibly hard, seeing he was never the brightest in the bunch.

"No idea..." - Flass finally managed to mumble out, his eyes semi-closed to avoid direct contact with the kidnapper. He knew this was a sign of weakness, and that it would make the other man feel even more confident about doing this apparent interrogatory, but something in Flass's gut told him it was for the best to act like that. The aura radiating from the inquirer was far too dark and uncomfortable for a person like him to act against, at least with no reinforcements around.

Following his answer, silence filled the area for a few more instances, as the mysterious man took a few steps back and merged with the shadows of the area once more, his voice becoming nothing but a murmur from the darkness surrounding Flass. The overweight cop could clearly hear the noise from the man walking around him, but that just made him feel more nervous and aware of his helplessness, considering that he could not make a single move, making him a vulnerable prey to a stalking predator that could attack at any second.

"Are you sure you don't know? I think it's rather rude of you to forget the one who made you." - The voice of the inquirer grew deeper as he moved closer to Flass, the bones in his hands almost cracking as he moved his fingers. Walking mere inches behind the overweight cop, he put his hand on Flass's shoulder, still not letting his face come to the light, but showing he was no illusion. - "Is Carmine Falcone only a stranger for you now?"

"What do you know? What do you care? What does it even matter to you?! " – Flass spat out in sheer frustration, finally able to let out a more imposing demeanor than the one he had been using throughout the entire conversation. This small act of defiance, more rushed and moronic than courageous would change the course of what was to transpire without a shadow of a doubt; be it for the best, or for the worst.

Flass could feel the familiar sensation of a cold chill crawling up his body as the sweat now coursed down his neck, his pupils softly dilating, as if begging for mercy behind the more aggressive attitude their owner had assumed. In the darkest moments of their lives, human beings always did seem to gain a mysterious strength that would allow them to take control of any situation in order to escape. Sadly, Flass did not really feel like a proper human being at the time being, for his wrists were still bound down, red and a bit cut up from the struggling; which guaranteed both him and the assailant that no one would leave the site.

With all the pondering he allowed himself to dive into, Flass forgot the single most important aspect a cop should take into consideration while operating on the field: never to stop paying attention to one's surroundings. With his mind now taken away by his feeble attempts of self relaxation after the outburst against the kidnapper, the overweight man was quickly grasped from behind, releasing a pained gasp while he felt a strong arm's anaconda-like grip involve his neck. Whoever was doing this to him was certainly skilled, as the pressure was applied perfectly on Flass, oxygen prohibited from entering or leaving his lungs.

With his eyes widening, the dirty cop desperately tried to struggle away from the chocking move applied on him, but could not even come close to stopping it, as his wrists were still strapped onto the arms of the chair he had now come to loathe. Applying all the strength he had in his arms, he felt warm tears quickly form as he felt the ropes bounding him slowly cut away his wrist's skin, pain overtaking his small willpower. Trying to desperately mumble something out, he quickly found he could not utter a sound, as if he was nothing more than a rag doll in the hands of a sadistic young child who slowly tore it apart limb by limb. After a desperate final attempt of struggling for liberation, Flass finally gave up, feeling his eyelids slowly close, signaling it was his end. He'd die a pathetic vulnerable death, like an old dog taken out in a pound because no one would ever take a beat down and helpless creature. To Flass's surprise, however, what he thought would be his last conscious thoughts were once again interrupted by the release of the grip, allowing him to finally breathe in and allow the so needed air of life course inside his lungs. Coughing repeatedly, Flass spat down what seemed to be a mixture of saliva and blood. Allowing his tongue to brush the insides of his own mouth he quickly realized he had bitten himself repeatedly during the struggle, tearing a bit of his gums. He had forgotten he could bleed by now.

"Well then, Mister Flass…are you ready to cooperate now?" - The assailant spoke once again, the muffled low voice stinging the dirty cop's ears like a needle of an angry wasp. Placing his hand on the shoulder of Flass, he leant his head forward a bit, allowing the victim to perceive part of who he was dealing with. The expression of sheer horror in the overweight man's face couldn't help but make him smirk, a deep long chuckle escaping his lips while his grip on the cop's shoulder lightened a bit.

"What…what the hell ar-" - Flass desperately tried to ask, only to be cut off by a rather violent fist which found its way against his jaw. With the lower bones of his face cracking due to the pressure of the punch as he lost balance, he fell to the side, taking the chair down with him. A squeal of pain filled the room as he felt his right wrist slammed into the ground by the heavy chair while his now heavily bleeding mouth made it much harder for him to properly breathe and speak. Trying to move into a more comfortable position, his ankle was violently stomped by the assailant, making him cry out in agony once more.

"That was not what I asked you, fat ass." The assailant replied coldly, with some subtle sparks of rage hidden beneath his voice, as if he was seconds away from exploding into a rampage. Taking the time to breathe in, he mercilessly drove his foot against Flass's side, only to hear one more moan of despair and suffering, which seemed to soothe down the frustration suddenly awaken in him. Adopting a somewhat crouching position, he grasped the cop's hair, pulling it back with maximum force, pleased to her yet one more scream from the mouth of Flass. He decided he'd repeat the question right next to his ear. "Apparently, your retarded skull impedes you from understanding basic speech, so let me try again: are you ready to cooperate now?"

Flass could feel his lungs pressed against his ribcage, as if the violence of the assault had made his internal organs desperate inside what should be their sanctuary. He probably had a punctured lung, judging by the incredible hard time he had to breathe. It was almost impossible to think at a time like this, and whoever this mysterious attacker was; he surely was not going to ask again before damaging Flass's body once again. Merely letting his eyes search for the facial features he knew would not be there, the overweight dirty cop initially thought this attacker was the infamous Batman, as his face was utterly concealed. As Crane had once said, the prowler always had shown an aptitude for disturbing one's most delicate operations; and adding that little information to the fact that Flass had had more than one incredibly unpleasant encounter with the Dark Knight, the odds of him being the kidnapper became more plausible as things went on. Such a theory, however, just did not seem right, for Batman had proved time and time again that he refused to kill. The fact that he had let the lunatic clown survive a few weeks ago was living proof of that. One could call it "honorable principle", but Flass could only describe such a course of action as "sheer stupidy". All of these factors led him to conclude that whoever it was that was dealing with him would have no problem in getting rid of him should he waste his opportunity to speak. Flass always had a talent for talking more than he should, so he figure he'd use it to his benefit at least this one time. Gulping as stress seemed to overtake him, the obese crooked cop merely nodded in a gesture that seemed as slow and endless as the time he had spent in there.

There was a moment of silence. In a simple amount of minutes, Flass had learned how terrifying the absence of sound could be. Vulnerability would be the adjective that would describe his current predicament more accurately. No chance of moving, not chance of fighting back, all while a predator merely walked around him, stalking him and waiting for a chance to dig his fangs into his neck. The most terrifying aspect of it all was that both were aware it would happen…and Flass would have no way of avoiding such a fate.

"Salvatore Maroni. Quite a familiar name once we put our heads to work and think about it, wouldn't you agree, Arnie?" – The kidnapper finally declared as he stood up, his voice becoming more distant but nevertheless still terrifying. He seemed to have adopted a more amicable tone in his approach now that Flass was seemingly cooperating with him. It could only mean disgrace was approaching at a faster rate. This guy was actually amused by this whole twisted therapy session. – "He managed to survive his little car crash a few weeks ago. Rumor even says that he is rebuilding his empire at a much more aggressive pace now that the Bat is Gotham's most wanted. People even believe he's bringing mister Thorne into his big scheme. You are here to confirm it to me. Well…that and the name of his other cronies, of course."

"Sal? Thorne?" – Flass asked with visible uncertainty, his tone travelling from sheer confusion to utter shock at the realization that this guy was fully aware of whatever was going on in Gotham's underworld. He would refrain himself from asking how in the world he knew what Maroni and Thorne had been cooking up, let alone that they were cooperating following Dent's death and Falcone's definite staying in Arkham Asylum. He was still too suspicious and hesitant to let anything too important be spilled; for he knew that he'd be iced either way. This guy would probably only go at it once, while Sal and the rest would take turns. His cowardly nature, however, stopped Flass from keeping his mouth shut, and trying to salvage his skin, he decided to throw a random family name, particularly one the growing criminal empire had wanted to get rid of for quite a while. – "Sally and Thorne are…just conducting business. Simple stuff, really. They just want to transfer some info around and get stuff done now that the freak is the one the cops are after! I know nothing else! I'm not even a cop anymore; I can't give you anything except for the Bertinelli…"

"Ah…so the Bertinelli _were_ behind the runt's scheme all along, weren't they?" – The voice of the assailant became deeper and deeper as he mused about the possibilities these little revelations had brought up. Part of him was certain he could not fully trust Flass, but then again; he had wanted to get rid of the Italians for a while, and this provided him with the proper excuse to put his skills to good use.

"Just…just, who are you?!" – Flass suddenly blurted out, confusion and shock filling his words as he stared at the mysterious man with his eyes widened, thinking on what could come about. He obviously wanted in if it'd fill his pockets, but it'd be better to be silent. He had just begun regretting his little outburst. Expecting the worst, his doubts were not confirmed as a merely cold and raspy voice sent a message that shook his entire being from within.

"My name is irrelevant. One barely needs those nowadays. We live through our ordinary little lives without even putting much thought on who we really are. The only real truth around here is…we all wear masks."


	2. Broken Empire

Gotham City cried. Gotham was an ugly city, stained by shame far beyond redemption. She was a sad old whore; and yet, when it ultimately came down to it, there was one particular trait about the city no one could never let pass, no matter how hard one tried to do so…she was beautiful when she cried. It was times like these that the Batman understood why someone like Joker was not so different from him at all. Both men loved it when she cried. They loved her only when she cried.

It had been a month since the nightmare that had fallen upon his city had been interrupted. The rain coursing down his mask, softly dripping on his lips that seemed to be permanently curved down into a frown almost felt like some sort of liberation, as if he was washing away sorrows from the failure of his own shadow. The very echoing sound of small drops of water slamming down on the wet structures of the gothic buildings also seemed to temporarily muffle the screeches that so often haunted him to sleep. Rain was amnesty, rain was silence, and rain was forgiveness. Yet he knew that all the rain in the world would not drown all the sorrow that had befallen upon Gotham.

It took him a while to finally open his eyes, a pleasure he rarely allow himself to have, contemplating the darkness before him; more of a home than most of what he had ever known. He should be getting on the move soon, for the sound of sirens grew louder and louder by the second, a proof that Gordon still had not stopped his intense pursuit. Somehow, that gave him solace at the moment. More than the commissioner would ever understand. Standing up as he relinquished his gargoyle-like stance, the dark knight moved forward, his arms spreading to the sides as he prepared to make a leap towards the skies. Feeling the safety of the rooftops abandon his feet assured the awakening of the vigilante as the wind vigorously slammed itself onto his well placed wings, the propulsion being more than enough to have him dart off into the distance, slightly above the world he carefully watched out for his entire life.

In spite of being in a somewhat new area, the sounds beneath him refused to abandon his person. The constant sound of tires viciously screeching on the humid pavement still clawed itself into his ears, as did the voices of civilians that had been given the chance to witness the enormous shadow hover above them. He was all too familiarized with those voices calling him a killer. Sometimes, he really wished he was. That was the sole reason why he never got through with it, even when he saw the clown prince of crime plummet to what would be his imminent death with the most demonic sample of laughter he had ever heard. Never had he realized how easy it actually was, letting someone die, 'killing for the greater good'. It became clear by then he would never come back if he did take a step towards that world, no matter how small it was. That was not why he had allowed Batman to emerge from the shadows it had been waiting in during Bruce Wayne's entire life.

As soon as he landed on the cemented roof of yet another building, his thoughts came down to earth as well, leaving his own personal introspective for another time. His eyes darting around the area, he assumed he was closer than ever to the point of this night's mission. Ever since Harvey Dent's death had cemented his legacy into Gotham's very own policy, the Falcone criminal empire had started crumbling, especially considering the fact that Carmine "The Roman" was not making his way out of Arkham anytime soon. Crane's drugs had visibly shaken the former crime lord, and even if he did find a way to snap out of his predicament, both Maroni and Thorne would make sure he never got a chance of moving out of the insane asylum. That was the main characteristic of mobsters like Salvatore and Rupert: once they dug their fangs on fresh meat, one could be certain they would only let go when shot down. The Falcone family was not utterly alone in this little strive for power against the more influent dogs at the moment, though. Mario and Sofia Gigante were definitely forces to be reckoned with in the criminal world, and even though Mario had seemingly wanted to cut the family's ties to organized crime ever since their father had been incarcerated, but in spite of effectively assuming a public position and distancing himself from the underworld, something about Sofia still made the caped crusader doubt any sort of action that could come out of the Falcone's plotting. The same level of danger could not actually be applied to the younger brother, Alberto, whose scrawny physique and incapability of working under pressure had made him a misfit amongst his own family, who cast him out to Oxford as fast as they could.

Flass's vanishing was also another detail that had been bothering him for quite a while now. The former crooked cop had been thrown out of the force as soon as Gordon assumed control, in what had been one of Gotham's most iconic cleansings of corruption and moral degradation; and now worked merely as some pathetic excuse of a snitch and enforcer in minor raids. Yet, he was kept alive because of all he knew from his time as an insider. That was the main problem with his vanishing, for whoever could make the fat guy squeal would have their way to the top of the criminal world assured for the most part. That left Batman with two tasks that were of uttermost importance in his eyes: tracking down Flass and keeping the inevitable gang war contained until he was certain Gordon could successfully handle it by himself. Gotham had to be sure it no longer needed the Batman, at least until the Dark Knight himself became convinced of that too.

Darkness and shadows truly were his allies in times like these. There were some nights in which he would have to refrain from adopting a more drastic approach to his business, and resort to mere stealth to acquire any bit of information he deemed crucial for his plans to come to fruition. Standing calmly in the dark corners of the Falcone mansion, the Dark Knight Detective merely awaited for the time to move as he heard the members of the once mighty criminal empire exchange their points of view and intentions towards the now broken criminal world.

"What do you mean 'Flass simply vanished'?!" – Sofia's loud and aggressive voice filled the room as she slammed her fist on the table, gritting her teeth as her viper like eyes scanned the calm expression on her brother Mario's face, as he once again was reacting to calmly to everything transpiring around the family. She always had a hard time accepting her older brother as her father's favorite, in spite of him insisting on living 'outside' of their world. – "I cannot just move in and screw up as soon as Father is out of the equation!"

"Sofia, please. You are not properly analyzing what is transpiring around here. If there is one thing Father did teach me was that an empire is not about conquest. Above everything, one must know when to take a step behind to make a big leap forward." – Mario calmly replied as he faced the window of the estate, his hands behind his back while he seemed to lose himself observing the water quickly course down the glass that provided a clearer reflection of his calm, collected self. – "Flass's vanishing is, without a doubt…a nuisance. We must not jump to conclusions, however, as that is what Maroni is probably expecting us to do. The family is too weakened and unprepared to wage war. Patience and observation shall help us see what they have in store. We should also be extra careful, now that Alberto is coming back to Gotham."

"What of it? The way I see it, Alberto himself is yet another thorn in my shoe. Why do you think Father sent him away? Also, if you are so determined about stepping away from our business, why keep the wise man act whenever shit goes down?" – The middle Falcone sibling quickly spat back at Mario, her voice low and poisonous as the snake many had called her before. The older Falcone's tendency of trying to play the cold, calculating leader had been bothering her for quite a while, as she feared it was simply a ruse for him to slowly take power away from her. The worst thing about it was that she knew, deep down, how in control he truly was. He was, in fact, the more suited heir to the Falcone Empire, whose suggestions and ideas more often than not paid off. Never had the giant felt so diminished.

"It is quite simple, sister." – Mario assured Sofia, slightly looking over his shoulder so that his younger sibling would be caught by his glance, a small, tired smile on the corner of his lip as he calmly stood still. – "No matter how much I distance myself from the business, family is family. At the end of the day, my main concern is to have a home to return with, no matter what my role is. I'd also appreciate it if you didn't speak of the legacy as if it was only yours, dear sister. Both of us know I can easily flip the table, so I'd advise you to act as a sister for once, especially to Alberto."

"Is that a threat, Mario?" – Sofia asked after a few instances of silence, her fists slightly clenched as she had dug her upper teeth on her lower lip, amazed at how it had no bust up and started bleeding. At the moment, all she could feel was rage and contempt for her brother, who she'd have no qualm executing if she didn't know things would quickly crumble around her if she did.

"I wouldn't call it a threat, as I am not really imposing any sort of work to you. I am merely advising you to ponder your place and your attitudes because now we no longer have Father to take responsibility for our mistakes." – The older brother meticulously explained with the charm and confidence many had grown to know and love or hate, depending on the side they stood towards Mario. – "At the moment we should focus on welcoming Alberto. Above all, they must see us as a true Roman Legion. United we can conquer, at least in the opposition's eyes. Just act calmly and make sure you do not let tensions arise too soon."

Judging from Mario's speech, Batman could at least find solace in the fact that he had some sort of an ally in the former of the older Falcone sibling. He would refrain from targeting him at the moment, seeing how he seemed to be the more rational sibling out of the three remaining Falcone family members and would take his own set of a containment program ahead too. This of course, did not mean he would not be kept under close watch, for his patient and pondered personality could prove to be deadly should he make a 'surprise' turn back to the criminal world.

Stealthily moving out of the estate he had entered with relative ease, the vigilante once again moved into the night immersed Gotham, still plagued by the lack of trace regarding Flass. The secrecy and concern put around the overweight crooked cop could prove to indeed be the source of a very serious headache for the Dark Knight Detective in a very near future.

Pondering on what would follow now that all he had left was the memory of Rachel and his parents and the legacy of Harvey Dent, Batman allowed himself one last trip to the alleyway he was born, ready to vanish as soon as morning came.


End file.
